Best Flightless Bird Poems
The Gift, The Truth, Hope And Its Sweet Promise
Your hope- you have gifted unto me
unto me, a vagabond shifting sand
a flightless bird lost in its plumage
under a great and mighty oak tree
above the sun beams
its illumination forbidding night
vanquishing darkness, its blacken strokes
In your hope rests a truth
that this vessel surrounding my soul
is but a temporary hindrance
a shell, a decaying fortress
bearing the hits from cannon shots
empty now- awaiting reinforcement
from a cavalry that vanished long ago
Youth-
alas! was it ever real
a maddening rush into the waiting trap
I remember-those sweet summer days
barefoot, soft grass between my toes
Youth-
a man-less ship
sailing upon uncharted seas
decorating blue skies and watery echoes
I now stand-aged, looking back
amazed at the speed of flight
how life gave no care of time
no respect of defiant reality
Your hope- you have gifted unto me
knowledge, inspiration- a new goal
to die without dire regrets
to depart a man
accepting truth, light, love
and the immense vanity born into mortal flesh.
Robert J. Lindley, 3-06-2021
Free verse, ( Eternity, Seen Beyond The Purple Veil )
Flightless, the smallest such bird,
he’s hopping about madly now,
dexterous little feet grab what they can -
he lost his beak decades ago
to a merciless marauder drone –
here, some tiny, thorny little twigs,
there, a footful of leaves nearly blown by
among better leaves flown by.
The wind is relentless,
he’s never known it more violent,
but he hasn’t known it any calmer either.
It’s already blown tons of wisdom
whistling past and around him,
that airborne car nearly hit him,
the airborne fridge was even closer,
but he’s lucky to be small enough
to be narrowly missed
and able to find little crevasses
to hide in when he needs a rest.
The smallest flightless bird,
he might take involuntary flight
in the clutches of absurd winds,
but somehow he stays on the ground.
The frayed old edge of a dog-blanket
is next across his path,
blown from the prison out south,
and he’s got it ! He grabbed it !
Well done, flightless little rascal.
Everything he’s gathered
will be the scrappiest little nest
ever known to man or bird,
he’ll clumsily patch it all together
in the smallest tree
(he, of all birds, needs a small tree),
small as his greatest preconceptions,
strangely anchored by the deepest root
known to brainwashed man or tree.
The wind, so crafty, is drunk with power,
it might blow that mountain
against the side of a bigger mountain,
they’ll both be scarred
for a good few minutes at least.
But that ragged little nest will be built
and he’ll simply never leave it,
he’ll make it scrappier by the day.
19th December 2018
Say that everything will be just fine,
When I’m lying in bed with a bottle of wine.
And you’re workin’ on number nine,
Figuring out why I’m still on your mind.
Call me and tell me you’re alone,
So I can fantasize about the clothes
Scattered on the floor from your ex
Who hasn’t grown.
Beating this pallet that grows with paint,
Not color or water, just black that stains.
And when you finally answer to tell me lies,
I’m crying in betrayal but I stay on the line.
Because I’m holding onto the comfort you gave me.
Slipping into red coated train steam.
So close too everything but still can’t see.
Now, when the bottle is empty and dry.
I realize my mind is a flightless bird trying too fly.
Paralyzed by something that serves me no good
And it stands where my dignity once stood.
I’m fine, I’m fine while I drop down the cliff.
Choking on Disaronno, grasping a spliff.
I’ve uncovered a way too not caring,
Even if chaos rules my heart, and bones narrowing.
SAVING DAY LIGHT
I’m the weaving dancer of passion’s delight,
Twisting in between the shafts of the rainbow,
At twilight, but saving day light for my pleasures
Hidden desire, I do this for he my master of fantasy.
For him, I am the dancing gypsy, shedding my silken vials
Asunder for the rheum man, whom makes my heart
Beat. With thunders roaring flash of loves stormy weather.
A castaway’s dreamer of desires unquenchable thirst,
Even though I’ve been swallowed whole, beneath his
Ocean’s cresting tidal waves of erotic persuasion.
Oh in the light of his saving day light, let the sunshine
Sacred rays, shower me with illumination’s passionate
Honey comb kisses, in the golden hours within his arms,
This cupid who’s disarmed this maiden of the sultry sea.
Within his blue eye I’ve ascended to the heavens
On pleasures unbound wings, touched the face of
My maker, then plunged at a free falls hastened pace,
Clinging upon devotions everlasting love, I’m a defeathered
Dove, seeking one last moments sigh, from he the
Master of this flightless bird of paradise.
Cruel is the slow night’s waltz to come, for I must
Leave this man so loved, by dawn’s light to rise
I so shall claim him once more.
Until then do I so dream of ecstasy’s reclamation,
By savings light of graces gentle whispering, come
Unto me, I’m waiting for thee, within these
Silken sheets of seduction.
I’m a dethroned princess, who would give up
Her kingdom’s precious fortune, just to be united
To him forever, this my black night of daylights
Unsheathing, behold the king of hearts desire,
Claims his queen of pleasures pon.
I’m the weaving dancer of passion’s delight,
Twisting in between the shafts of the rainbow,
At twilight, but saving day light for my pleasures
Hidden desire, I do this for he my master of fantasy.
Screaming is what I heard
Screaming like a flightless bird
I was alone in a cell or in a room
Everyday the screams came with the moon
Tomorrow is a new day
But I'm the same man
The man who grips his pillow at night
Fearing the war he must fight
They say everything will get better
I will oppose that in my suicide letter
I need to state that I'm not that dark
I'm just a man who's is searching for his heart
The screams I heard were from me but its not me
It was a heart that yelled just to be found
A heart that was buried 6 feet under the ground
Will it ever succeed to live
That's one thing I can never give
Do- Re- Mi-
Do..Dodo flightless bird
fearless of humans; easy prey!
Extinct so long many believe you a myth....
Re master of universe
mirror image of Ra...worshiped
by millions seeking a ray of hope..
a ray of sunshine warming heart and soul...
Mi.. Mi.. ME
Calm me.. breath..deeply breath..
help me.. bless me.. sing my song..
Do - Re- Mi-
Fa- So- La-
Fa away from everything;
everyone I love.. wishing..
dreaming.. desolate..
So- so- Sewing
Grandma's old sewing machine..
bright colors.. tiny stitches..
warm quilts... So- so- Sew!
La- La- La-
Sadness.. Dark.. gloomy..
overwhelmed.. lonely.. Tears..
La-La-La-...LA! LA! LA!
La- Ti- Do-
ti-Ti- piercing.. Heart weary..
Ti.. Ti.. Tea!
a hot cup with lemon and honey..
faith....hope.. a ray..
Do- stronger now!
Do- Do- Do what you have to!
find strength.. it's there..deep inside you..
survive! grow! learn! LIVE!!
do- re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do...
DO- RE- MI- Fa-So- La- ti- do!
“You can’t play on broken strings”
And still you made me feel like I had wings
Until that day you walked away
I had to try and keep the tears at bay
“When you cried, I’d wipe away all of your tears”
For months I help to fend away all your fears
We became one through all the trials
We shared so many smiles
“According to you”
Our time was overdue
You moved on without a word
I once again became a flightless bird
“So I am already gone”
It was written in the stone
Our love was not meant to last
You’re not part of my future, you are my past…
Broken strings – James Morrison feat Nelly Furtado
My Immortal - Evanescence
According to you - Orianthi
Already gone – Kelly Clarkson
07/05/2011
Your love has made me weary
Your eyes do light the way
Your lips must taste like berries
Or chocolates far away
Your hair smells like vanilla
Just ask me and I’ll stay
To hold you in my strongest arms
And in the grass we’ll lay.
I love your voice the sweetest sound I’ve heard in all my years
So hold my hand, do hold it tight, we’ll make it through our fears
Or even when you still have doubt you’ll see my drying tears
So please give me a chance to redeem my dying love
For I have nothing left, but cheers and a flightless dove.
life is weary
my eyes are teary
life gets harder every time
i guess that's why we have to rhyme
are you ready to go?
they're about to start the show...
my head is spinning round and round
waiting for this girl to be found
share- it's such an empty word
it takes flight just like a flightless bird
life will come around to scare
to you this must be new
i could tell by the way you acted
you were well distracted
it looks like a jerk's work
i'm surprised we've not all gone berserk
The robin that shuddered from the island of the lake,
The robin that tossed until each feather was a flake,
The robin in the wind that watched the waters awake,
Robin red-breast numb with ache.
For the rhyme-battle 2 competition
a flightless bird too sore to soar,
for i’m a raven wearing pain-
fear begins a tragical war,
whispers from sated stars remain
i kept secrets until you died,
for you are the one i adore-
i tried to love you as you lied,
cried some more full of life’s abhor
my heart harrowing like before,
it leaks lament and doleful gloom-
torment on the bare forest floor;
for this enigma does consume
i need not weep for what is lost,
but learn the flight to heal much more-
i save no wealth- for there’s no cost…
restore what ravens can't ignore
1.13.20
Distant Refrains Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Joseph May
I gave myself the body
of a secretary bird—
long legs like accusations,
a face too sharp for comfort.
But wings? I borrowed
from a taxidermied dodo:
soft, irrelevant,
stitched to the wrong century.
In the background,
a sky I did not earn.
In the foreground,
a foot poised to crush a snake
that looks suspiciously like me.
History is a loudmouth dunghill hen,
Who so hid hind it were left to cavil,
He who loves here and now’s a happy man.
Past, a flightless bird, primes its wings in vain,
A dodo buried under snowy chill,
History’s no more than a dunghill hen.
If what goes never may return again,
If fleeting moments can’t a vacuum fill,
Here and now’s a hinge for a happy man.
The story of this world since time began
Seems to end with mankind’s same old evil,
A tale glorified by a dunghill hen.
Not much has changed, not so dies more same than
Hist’ry, a time-waster of wanton will,
He who loves here and now’s a happy man.
Time scorches, to pallor turns ruddy tan,
And future gets frozen, good with evil,
History’s ho hum yells like dunghill hen,
He who loves here and now’s a happy man.
_____________________________________________
Villanelle | 07.03.2022 |
Poet’s notes: Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. But we are here to create the history, not remember it, nor yet repeat it. And yet, history, written by the winners, is often not even truth. What this means is and as this poem says, history is a loudmouth dunghill hen. Further, talking about history, as someone said, some people feel the rain, and some get wet. As Churchill said, ‘history will be kind to me as I intend to write it. So, let us focus on creating history, and that process starts from here and now. Sure, he who loves here and now is a happy man
Sometimes he writes to her
upon a white paper moon.
The ink of his thoughts
dries to invisibility
as he folds the love-letter
into an origami model
of a flightless bird,
a creature now extinct.
He imagines her putting on her face,
dressing up
getting ready to take a taxi
to his Bayswater, London apartment.
At such times
he waits like Noel Coward
for his China dream girl
in some long forgotten play.
He picks up
a cut glass whiskey decanter
swirls the last inch of Irish around
smiles as she appears once more
at his door.
As the roosters greet the cool morn
Flightless unable to soar
Earthbound noisely let sun hear
I'm here, I'm here such bore
They strutt, throw chest out arrogant
Are they impressing males
Females or try to bolster self?
Oh flightless bird what ails?
The sun that peeked red between clouds
Now is gold above mass
Soon the cool of the morn will wilt;
The roosters' crowing pass.
The sounds of morn that saturate
Enter my being, soul
Soon will evaporate_dry_go
Let moments in soul mould...